


let me be the one who sings along

by nowayout



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BECAUSE TOKYO HAPPENED, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 04:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14128275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowayout/pseuds/nowayout
Summary: This isn’t new. The feeling of drowning in Liam, enveloped in his arms, swallowed up by the intensity of Liam’s presence. It didn’t use to make his heart try to claw its way up his throat to escape, though. Didn’t use to make his chest ache, but now there’s an empty space left behind, and misery is a quick bitch that fills it up instantly.





	let me be the one who sings along

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beautifulnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulnow/gifts).



> Hope you enjoooy *insert kissy face emoji* It's possible that my idea of what happy endings should be is... a little questionable. I TRIED OKAY.  
> Title from Wildfire by SYML.

 

And it doesn’t feel like it used to. That’s the saddest part, he thinks, mask slipping off for a second, but he’s too far away, too high up for anyone to notice. It’s for the better, though; none of this was ever meant for the eyes of anyone else.

It’s just fucking nerves now. The stubborn kind, the angry kind, like restless ropes inside his chest, making his stomach ache and his anxious fingers hesitate over buttons and keys that he normally knows better than the order of the letters in his name.

He wonders if there’s some happiness left after all. A tiny remnant maybe, currently suffocating underneath the jitters, a shadow of the warm feeling that used to heat up his skin like the July sun. Wonders if some of the nerves aren’t actually the shitty kind, if there’s soft anticipation thrumming through his veins instead of dread and uncertainties. But the more he lets his mind linger on what is about to happen, the more his hands shake and – no. It’s not a pleasant sensation at all.

He looks up again, out into the crowd of delighted faces beaming up at him, and feels his lips curve into a tentative smile. If there’s a source of happiness for him on this night, it’s this. The people watching him with bright eyes, singing along to his songs, jumping and dancing and wearing their excitement like a proud badge of unbridled emotions.

 _They’re here for you_ , he reminds himself. _Focus_. And he does, for the most part.

Until Liam comes on stage.

/ / /

It’s a testament to either his faith in Liam or his innate optimism – Anton doesn’t want to call it naiveté, even though it certainly feels like it sometimes – that, as he extends the invitation, he genuinely doesn’t see why asking Liam to join him on the show might be a bad idea. They’re both in the same place at once for the first time in months, it would be fun to reunite for a performance, why not.

He doesn’t necessarily expect Liam to accept. Then again, he sort of does. Hopes, at the very least, that they could be on the same page again, that Liam might want this too, and refuses to think about why he’s still holding on.

Liam agreeing enthusiastically is an ice-cold wake-up call, but by the time the memories rush back in and settle like a heavy self-imposed punishment, there isn’t much Anton can do besides hang up with an awkward laugh and a choked up _see you soon, man, miss you_ , and try to fight the sudden urge to scream into a pillow. He stares at the wall until his breathing evens out. It’s just a matter of days. He can do this. It’s not like he isn’t used to losing sleep because of Liam.

/ / /

If he fucks up all else, Anton wants to at least be able to say he’s doing his job right. No one’s here to watch him have a full-blown panic attack over Liam for reasons that would be difficult to explain. So he takes a steadying breath, voice clear and confident and just a little playful as he introduces Liam and deliberately keeps his eyes on the crowd, their screams drowning out his too-loud heartbeat.

He has a plan and he’s determined to follow it. Stay professional. Be polite.

Be cautious. _Remember_.

/ / /

His determination falters the second Liam steps onto the stage and greets the crowd. It absolutely shatters when he turns around to blow Anton a kiss.

The thing is, he knows Liam. Knows how he operates in this setting. Hell, they’ve shared a stage before, none of this is new. Liam is a performer from his fingertips to the marrow of his bones, he can put on a show even when he’s tired from an intercontinental flight and most likely jetlagged too, engages the audience from the beginning of his performance until the very end.

So this – this is unusual. Liam looking up at him instead of the crowd, arms wide open, a giant grin on his face. Waiting.

And it feels like –

An evening in December, meeting Liam for the first time, passive-aggressive and cynical until the moment Liam introduced himself, all earnest eyes and kind smiles and big, gentle hands. It feels like his heart doing a double take and self-preservation shutting down without warning like an old laptop, curiosity bubbling up just enough to make him want to stick around for one song. Like hearing Liam sing and wanting to stick around forever.

It feels like two years’ worth of wasted life lessons crashing down on him.

Anton thinks this might be Liam’s greatest talent, his ability to blend into the background and go largely unnoticed until he bursts like a meteorite into the life of everyone who didn’t see him coming, intent on making an impression. Turn their world upside down in the blink of an eye. Ensure he’s all they can see afterwards.

Anton wonders what it says about him that he’s fallen for the same trick twice.

He grips the mic tighter and smiles. Liam’s absence had drained him; he won’t allow his presence to do the same.

/ / /

Liam bounces from one side of the stage to the other with his patented brand of contagious energy, voice a perfectly tuned instrument even as he’s jumping around and shaking his hips. Anton keeps his phone trained on him. He’ll share some of the footage later, like he always does. It won’t be weird that he’s filming Liam instead of the crowd for once – Liam is his guest, this is their song, it would raise more questions if he didn’t.

It has nothing to do with his penchant to turn every moment spent with Liam into a memory he can keep safe and deceptively alive on his phone, too aware that his emotions-addled brain would fail to do it justice. Collecting precious memories isn’t his goal anymore. He stopped doing that when – well. It’s in the past.

Every now and then Liam turns to wave at him, happy and glowing and persistent, like he wants to involve Anton in the performance as much as he does the grinning fans, like he wants them to connect, to reconnect, like it’s just that simple to pretend this is something they still get to have on a weekly basis. Like the past months have only been a nightmare that he can finally wake up from.

There’s only so long Anton can hold onto his resolve not to let Liam’s loud, infectious enthusiasm affect him. It gets easier to return the smile and make it a little more honest every time their eyes meet, to forget the pain and remember the ecstasy, to let his body start moving to the beat.

He’d thought he was done with dancing. Yet, his moves still match Liam’s. More subdued and unsure but similar nonetheless, another memory floating back in from days that feel like a lifetime ago. Another wound opening up.

As the song comes to an end, Liam turns around one last time, stares up at him with a grin and holds his arms up. Blows him another kiss. Anton laughs it off on the surface, professional mask slipping back on, and stubbornly ignores the tremor in his hands. Liam means well, probably. He always does. That doesn’t make all this hurt any less, though. 

Grinning still, Liam leaves the stage as The Middle begins. Stupidly, Anton can’t help wondering whether Liam’s worked it out by now.

/ / /

He looks different. A little broader, his cheeks fuller. He looks healthy. The hair Anton used to run his fingers through when the world was too dark and quiet for anyone to notice is gone, but his smile is still so bright it could put the sun to shame. His embrace feels the same.

“Man,” Liam laughs quietly, warm breath tickling the side of Anton’s neck where his face is buried, “I missed you, dude.”

Anton fists his hands in Liam’s shirt, digs his chin into Liam’s shoulder and bites his lips to keep the bitterness inside his mouth, under his tongue. He’s mad at Liam for sounding so earnest. He’s furious with himself for wanting to believe.  “Missed you, too,” he whispers, too soft for his liking and maybe Liam senses it or something, because his arms wrap tighter around Anton’s shoulders, the sigh he lets out sounding pained as he presses his forehead to Anton’s temple.

And this isn’t new. The feeling of drowning in Liam, enveloped in his arms, swallowed up by the intensity of Liam’s presence. It didn’t use to make his heart try to claw its way up his throat to escape, though. Didn’t use to make his chest ache, but now there’s an empty space left behind, and misery is a quick bitch that fills it up instantly.

“You got buff,” he tells Liam, desperate to make pointless conversation, cover up the silence that screams with every question and every muddled emotion he’s swallowing back down. His heart keeps pounding away in disapproval, too full, too heavy; he can’t bring himself to try and make it settle down anymore.

Liam laughs again, soft and untroubled. “You got small,” he retorts, hands coming down to rest on Anton’s waist, either to prove a point or simply out of habit.

Anton tries to shrug. Working out regularly hasn’t exactly been a priority, he knows he’s lost some weight since they last saw each other. Even more since the last time Liam’s fingers traced his eager body.

It doesn’t matter anymore. Besides, he thinks to himself, still holding onto Liam in an attempt to hide everything he knows his face would give away right now, it’s only fitting that his physical appearance would match the way Liam makes him feel.

/ / /

He’s never been quiet around anyone else the way he is with Liam. Then again, he’s never been as open and stupidly sincere, either. It isn’t much of a choice since he can’t exactly control it, something addictive about Liam’s crinkly-eyed smiles and the easily-offered affection making him lose his breath and the would-be playful, flirty remarks on the tip of his tongue. He thinks too much or not enough. Worries and stutters. Gives himself away without even making a sound, unspoken truths written all over his face, carried by his restless hands.  

Liam’s proximity has a way of rendering him speechless and stupid. He doubts that’ll ever change.

/ / /

Liam is still warm and beautiful and effortlessly charming in that particular way of his. Still radiates positivity and good intentions, and it’s so easy to forget the things Anton knows he should be remembering. Having other people around helps, too, makes it easier to breathe. Anton feels less like an elastic band ready to snap the longer he watches Liam make small talk with the crew; feels comfortable enough to give an honest smile as they pose for some picture, Liam’s arm around his waist, fingers pressing into his skin. Anton holds on just as tightly because he can’t deny he’s missed this. Liam’s warmth. Their bodies slotting together like once-scattered lonely pieces, lost and found. Just _being_ around him, without worries and unwarranted stiffness.

Deep down he knows it’s only a false sense of security, but he lets it take over nonetheless, sentimental and nostalgic, longing for the days when Liam used to be a safe space. It feels like diving under a wave, willingly sinking to avoid the destructive impact. It’s just wishful thinking, but Anton can work with that. Has done it before.

Later, when it’s just the two of them left, huddled on a couch that could seat three other people, sides glued together like so much physical contact between them isn’t a thing of the past, Anton forces himself to hold still, stay as relaxed as possible. Ignore the prickling in his fingertips. If Liam wants to act like it’s been merely days instead of months, he can play along.

It’s all too familiar, this – the darkened hotel room, the burger wrappers on the table, the movies they don’t pay attention to because there’s too much body heat to share and too little time. It’s easy to pretend Liam’s thigh brushing against his is just the prologue.

/ / /

Liam makes sure not to let the conversation stray from their professional lives and Anton isn’t masochistic enough to ask whether there’s a particular reason for it or not. It could be just that Liam is being – kind, again. Sparing him the details. Sparing his heart.

They still have plenty to talk about, both of them seemingly having found comfort in their work over the past months. Liam asks about the projects Anton’s been getting involved in, shares some of his future plans in return. He sounds excited, passionate, endearingly impatient, words punctuated with bright grins and wild gesturing. It puts a smile on Anton’s face too, seeing him like this. He recalls a time, not too long ago, when the joy hadn’t come so easily to Liam. When he had to be reminded giving up wouldn’t bring him peace or contentment, and every genuine smile had to be coaxed out of him gradually. It feels good to recognize the glint in Liam’s eyes as happiness, fierce and unrestrained. Pure.

The laughter and the easy conversation make Anton mellow out as the sky turns midnight blue, initial discomfort and anxiety seeping out of his body like a layer of dust he can just wash off. His body stops tensing up the longer Liam keeps touching him, fingertips dancing on the inside of his forearm when Liam says he’ll be going to Germany soon. The touch feels like sunlight on his skin.

“You could come with me,” Liam jokes, hand reaching up to cup Anton’s chin. “Show me around.”

When Anton turns to look at him, Liam’s eyes are laughing too. Candid. Harmless. Or maybe not. He shakes his head. “Can’t, actually,” he says, letting his fingers curl around Liam’s wrist. He doesn’t push the hand away, though. “I’m a little busy these days.”

Liam hums, gently, but keeps quiet otherwise. His gaze flick down for a sliver of a second, questioning but not really, and Anton knows what he should do. Knows it’s better to put an end to whatever this might become, because it’s not –

They don’t –

It’s over, isn’t it.

And yet, it’s easier not to stop Liam, to let his eyes fall shut as Liam’s thumb traces his lower lip. Steal another moment he knows he’s going to torture himself with when Liam disappears again.

Stupid. Two years later and he’s just as stupid for this boy as ever.

Liam pulls his hand back, drops it on his knee. “I know,” he finally replies, too soft, too affected.

Anton frowns. It doesn’t feel like they’re talking about the same thing anymore.

Everything he’s learned about Liam over the years is carefully sorted out in his head, taking up more space than Anton would like to admit; that probably explains why he remembers every detail and every secret with nerve-wracking clarity. He doesn’t attribute it to his observant nature – more to Liam agreeing to let him in. To give him a chance. To trust him. He knows that pressuring Liam to say what’s on his mind never does any good. Liam speaks up on his own terms, when he feels the moment is right. Liam doesn’t need a nudge in the right direction, he simply needs time to decide for himself where the next step should take him.

And he does take his time now, too. Leaning his head against the back of the couch, he looks around with wide, hesitant eyes, absentmindedly playing with the material of his sweatpants where it’s bunched up at his knee. Anton watches him quietly. The silence is heavy, but whatever Liam is thinking about has to mean a lot to him, and Anton knows how to wait. To be patient.

Liam seems to have a full conversation with himself before he feels comfortable enough to share his thoughts. “I’ve been doing better,” he says, and his voice is small but also loaded with unspoken words.

Anton doesn’t need to hear them to understand the full story. “Yeah?” He reaches out to grab Liam hand again, because he can’t _not_.

Liam nods, turns his palm up and intertwines their fingers. “Done a lot of thinking. On my own.”

“You didn’t have to do it on your own.” The words are barely louder than an exhale, but Anton still wishes he could take them back as soon as they come out. He doesn’t mean to make Liam feel bad about this. Feel guilty over something he can’t be blamed for.

He lowers his head, a defeated sigh tumbling past his lips. He’s so fucking exhausted and his brain always fails him around Liam and this whole thing was just a giant fucking mistake from the very start. He should have known better. It’s on him.

He avoids eye contact until Liam squeezes his hand, pulls at him with intent, silently asking for attention. But instead of the remorse-filled expression he worries he might have put on Liam’s face, Anton finds himself receiving a look that makes his heart stumble and flutter, memories safely tucked away starting to trickle back into his blood. He knows that look. Has seen it too many times to count, in borrowed moments and quiet corners of the wildest cities. It’s the look that leads to Liam’s hands branding his skin, tender bruises replacing promises neither of them is naïve enough to still believe in. Liam making a home between his spread thighs in ever-changing beds, desperate anticipation and slick heat. Liam on his knees backstage at a club in downtown New York, burning eyes and a wicked mouth.

He’s prepared for it when their lips collide. They have been here before, time and time again, so he tries not to put too much hope in the way they move together like the notes of a familiar melody falling into their rightful place, but he braces his hands on Liam’s shoulders all the same, kisses back as if his heart doesn’t feel more and more like a punching bag with every passing second. It’s a mess, he thinks a little hysterically, but Liam knows his body, knows how to turn it responsive, and it’s difficult to tell him to stop when he starts trailing kisses down Anton’s neck, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. It’s easier to arch up into his touch and – wish. Wish things were simpler, wish he could just enjoy the feel of Liam’s body against his own, like he used to when they both decided It was either giving in or burning up silently until there was nothing left. But that’s not what this is anymore. It stopped being uncomplicated and purely physical somewhere between Liam opening up about his past and Anton starting to write too many songs for and about him. 

When Liam makes to take his shirt off, Anton grabs his hands, stops him with a slight shake of his head. He keeps his eyes closed a moment longer.

“This isn’t ending with you in my bed again, Liam.” The words don’t have the intended bite to them, instead coming out soft as always, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. This is still Liam he’s talking to, and his eyes are wide and unsure.

Nodding slowly, Liam scoots back on the couch. Puts a little more space between them, and Anton is equal parts grateful and bothered by it. Still, Liam’s even voice taken him by surprise when he says, firmly, “You missed me.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Anton has to fight down the urge to sigh in frustration. “Course I did. Told you as much, didn’t I? And I meant it. Or did that turn into code for ‘I want a quick fuck’ since we last saw each other and I didn’t get the memo?”

This time, Liam’s eyes do fill with guilt. He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily as he opens his mouth to speak. “I – I’m sorry. You’re right, I have been – absent, lately.” He seems impossibly older all of a sudden. Worn out and tired. “But there’s a reason why I’ve kept my distance.”

Anton feels the tendrils of anger disperse and leave his body just as quickly as they had come to curl around his heart. He reaches out for Liam’s hand again. “I know that, Liam. I –”

But Liam cuts him off. “I know you do. And I know you’ve missed me. I know you meant it.” His voice gets a little softer, vulnerable, but he tightens his grip on Anton’s hand like he’s pouring his remaining strength into the touch. “And so did I.” He lets out a chuckle, short and humorless. “So I thought, at least tonight, I wouldn’t drop all of my baggage on you again.”

The sharp breath Anton can’t help but draw in tastes bitter on his tongue. Bitter and heavy. He notices the slight tremor is back in his hands, and he can only hope Liam doesn’t feel it too. Or if he does, that he won’t mistake the anger Anton’s directing at himself for anything else. After all this time, Liam wasn’t supposed to feel like he still had to hide anything from him. Not anymore.

He rubs a trembling hand over his face, keeps the other wrapped around Liam’s. “The baggage never bothered me,” he says, but Liam averts his gaze, eyes fixed on the ground, and that feels like a monumental blow to the middle of his chest. He can’t believe this is actually happening. “Liam, fuck. Come on, don’t – don’t do this. Pushing me away before I can leave? Really, still?”

Rushing to cup Liam’s cheeks, Anton lifts his head gently, forces him to look up. Liam’s eyes are wet. Pools of molten chocolate. God, this really does hurt like a bitch.

He takes another deep breath. Tells himself he has everything under control until he knows his voice won’t come out brittle. “Stop expecting me to run away. I’m not going to do that. Look at us now, Liam, look at all I know. I’m still here, what does that tell you?”

Liam shakes his head frantically, looking about as desperate as Anton is currently feeling. “No, that’s not – that’s not what this is,” he says haltingly. “I wanted to get better, alright? I had to get better before I could see you again.” He chuckles again, his voice wobbly. Treacherous. “It’s my mess, yeah? I’m the one who has to fix it.”

In a way, Anton thinks he understands. Certainly knows enough not to believe Liam’s choices were a sign of mistrust, a personal failure of some kind. Still, he had hoped they were past the barriers and isolation. Then again, he knows a part of Liam will never not be a little wary of ostensible good intentions and promises of forever.

“Liam,” he starts, grasping for the composure he had lost ten minutes, or three hours, or two years ago, “you are, and you will, but not – not without help.”

Once more, Liam lets out a short chuckle, just as miserable as the ones before. “I’m trying,” he says, wearied. “Believe me, I am. And it’s working, you know? That’s why I said yes when you asked me to come. It felt right. I was ready to see you again. I was –” A pause, a shrug. A crumble of a smile. “Better.”

Mouth pressed into a tight line, Anton pulls Liam into his arms, fingers kneading at the top of his spine until Liam lets out a contented sigh. He feels himself settle too when Liam buries his face in the crook of his neck, the way he does for every hug, breathing in deep, breathing out peacefully. As if Anton’s body could always be a safe space for him, no matter what else changed.

“I really am sorry,” Liam repeats, voice muffled but still too loud and piercing in the quiet room.

Anton presses a kiss to his forehead. “I know you are.”

With a little huff, Liam pulls back to look at him with wide, wide eyes. “I still – I’m not sure what to do when it comes to you, you know? Sometimes it feels like I’m going to lose you anyway. Because I say too much. Because I don’t say enough.” He lets out a small, watery laugh. “Tell me what to do, babe.”

Anton thinks back to the past months. To Liam saying he needed some time for himself but not explaining why. To days turning into weeks and later into full months without any real sign of life from Liam besides social media updates. To worrying and having nothing but assumptions to go by. To wondering what he’d done so wrong for Liam to cut him out of his life so abruptly.

And then he thinks about tonight. About every other night, and every other moment. About the fate he’s starting to believe in and how things don’t fall into place so easily unless they’re meant to be. About the way his heart willingly stiches itself back together whenever Liam is around. Closes up wounds it was marred with even before Liam burst into his life like a falling star.

He runs his fingers over the short bristles of Liam’s hair, smiles a little helplessly when Liam’s eyes flutter shut at the touch, heart hiccupping in his chest. Yeah, he thinks to himself. This feeling won’t fade away any time soon. “Don’t shut me out,” he says, pleads, thumb brushing softly over Liam’s cheekbone. “Don’t become a stranger again. Please.”

Opening his eyes again, Liam turns his head, places a kiss on the inside of Anton’s wrist, and nods. “I promise to try. Just – be patient.”

And it’s enough. For now, the promise is enough. Liam’s promises to him have never been just empty words.

Anton hums, pushes gently at a corner of Liam’s mouth until a lopsided smile starts to take shape. “Funny thing, you know. I’m actually good at that.”

This time, when Liam laughs, the sound is vibrant and full and golden. His eyes are bright like they should always be, and when he pulls Anton in to kiss him, his lips taste like a song they’ve both put on paper.

And no, it doesn’t feel like it once used to. It feels like more.

 


End file.
